


Like Real People Do

by BroImLooking



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Honestly this fic is mostly just really weird monster fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Michael Being Michael, Other, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, a little bit of the following:, a lot of the following:, au where michael doesnt die its just vibing, takes place sometime during season 4 but michael is there, use of it/its pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroImLooking/pseuds/BroImLooking
Summary: Jon's trying his best to hold onto his humanity. Michael's there to show him that being a monster isn't all that bad.
Relationships: Michael/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 23
Kudos: 169





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> As a quick warning- the way parts of this is written can be kinda triggering for people that struggle with EDs. Tread lightly.

Jon rubbed his eyes with the base of his hand, closing them just for a moment to regain his bearings. His head ached. His vision swam so badly he could only just make out the text in front of him, and his mouth was so dry he was certain that he was nearing the ending stages of dehydration. 

He was so incredibly hungry. The feeling gnawed at his insides, not so much a single point of pain as it was a full body ache. He glared pitifully at the takeout he’d ordered that he only managed a few bites of before his body made very clear that cheap chinese food was not what he needed, and the growing nausea was only adding to his general misery. 

He tried to drink, his hands shaky and uncertain, but the water did nothing to quench his thirst. He gave up after he felt bile rise in his throat, and angrily threw the bottle to the floor, where it joined the pile of trash that he knew he’d have to clean up soon before the mess began to trigger his paranoia. 

The room was completely silent, other than the constant mechanical whir of his tape recorder. He was so used to the sound of it constantly running that he easily filtered it out. Maybe if he read a few more statements, filled up on empty calories, it would last him another day or so before he-

He suddenly snapped to attention as the familiar sound of a door creaking open brought him back to the moment. He looked up to see a garish yellow door where there had been no door there before, sitting slightly ajar. He frowned. 

“... Helen?” He asked, his voice raspy. He winced at how much it hurt to force himself to speak, and he was struck with a surge of momentary panic at the thought of losing his voice completely. Before he could dwell on that, the door creaked open completely. 

“Try again, Archivist,” a soft, teasing voice said. That was definitely not Helen. His confusion turned to sudden understanding, then back to confusion once again as a tall, inhumanly thin figure made its way out of the door. 

“Michael? I thought you got… Replaced.” The sight of the brightly colored fear entity was doing nothing for his pounding migraine, especially as the room itself seemed to warp around it. It moved with an unnerving grace, with overly long limbs delicately maneuvering until it reached Jon’s desk, which it sat on without any regard for the stacks of papers he had sorted through. Jon’s eye twitched. 

“It’s not so simple to discard an avatar, Archivist. Surely you of all people should know that,” There were a few moments of silence before Michael continued. “I heard about what happened. With the Unknowing. You know you should be dead as well. Is it really that much of a shock-”

“Why are you here, Michael?” He interrupted it, feeling even more irritable than normal. He was tired and deliriously hungry, and he wasn’t in the mood to dwell on that particular bit of trauma that he was doing his best to repress.

“I was worried about you.” Michael said immediately as a response, before falling abruptly silent as though it hadn’t meant to say that. There was a long pause before Jon realized what he had done. 

“Shit, Michael, I’ve been trying to get better at controlling that.” Michael’s soft, round face seemed more impressed than upset, from what he could see. It was hard to tell with how blurry his vision was, and that was on top of the fact that Michael’s form was difficult to focus on even during the best of times. 

It set its hands on Jon’s desk, leaning closer as though to inspect him. Its long, sharp talons made a harsh clink as they hit the rough wood, and Jon had a vivid flashback to the time Michael gouged him with one of those fingers. He swallowed hard. Michael was so close that his long, curly hair was beginning to brush against Jon’s skin. It felt like static. 

It didn’t say anything, just stared Jon down with eyes that seemed to spiral down into infinity. He wasn’t sure how long he and it sat like that, but he only snapped out of it when Michael spoke again.   
“Look how strong you’ve become, Archivist. I suppose that will make killing you even harder, now.” Jon couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in his chest. Michael pulled away, seemingly a bit confused about him making light of its threats. He couldn’t help it, though. Michael wouldn’t hurt him. The knowledge bubbled into his mind so quickly that he couldn’t even stop it. 

“You’re not really here to kill me, are you?” He asked flatly. He felt guilt surge up inside of him as he watched Michael physically struggling to stop itself from answering, but it was, of course, useless.

“Of course not.” It finally hissed after about ten seconds of trying to fight Jon’s compulsion.   
Jon felt like he was going to vomit. 

“I’m sorry.” Jon said, slumping down into his chair. Michael instantly leaned back closer to him, getting much too far into his personal space to be comfortable. 

“It’s not your fault, Archivist. It’s in your nature. It’s unhealthy to fight against your nature. I did as well, back when I first became myself. But what does humanity bring but the burden of guilt?” Jon felt like he knew where this was going.

“I’m not a monster. I’m not like you.” Jon said, scooting his chair back and standing up. It didn’t help much. Even when sitting, Michael still towered over him. It seemed almost amused by his efforts to be intimidating.

“Aren’t you, though? You’re definitely not a human anymore.” It said simply. Jon felt the sting of angry tears building up in his eyes. 

“Fuck you,” he growled.

A part of him felt that maybe Michael was right. He was doing objective good, saving the world. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad of a trade-off to properly take care of himself. Even if he did hurt people, it was worth it in the end if the world continued to turn, right? Michael cooed and gently wiped at the corners of his eyes where the tears had gathered. Its sharp talons pierced the skin next to his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I’m so hungry, Michael.” He admitted, a sob escaping his throat with the confession. “I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to be the beast that haunts people’s nightmares. I don’t want my friends to hate me for what I’m turning into. I want to be human again.” The cuts on his face didn’t so much hurt as they tingled unpleasantly, as everywhere Michael touched him felt like it was gently falling asleep. Before he could even adjust to being touched, (when was the last time anyone had touched him without wanting to hurt or kill him anyways?) Michael was pulling away from him. 

Jon could only mutely watch as Michael grinned at him cheekily before vanishing through its door, which promptly flickered out of existence. He collapsed back onto his seat, clawing at his eyes desperately in an attempt to stop himself from crying. Of course that was all Michael wanted. To humiliate him. To force him to admit what he was becoming. 

He buried his face in his arms, on his desk, doing his best to block the world out. The cuts on his face stung properly now, but he could tell they were already on the way to healing. By tomorrow they’d just be new scars to add to his ever growing collection. 

He must have dozed off at some point, because he found himself quickly jolted awake by the terrified screaming and pleading of a young man. 

The yellow door was back, and Michael was standing in it, clutching the arm of a guy in his mid twenties. His arm was bleeding heavily, and he was begging, pleading to be allowed to go home. Michael threw him onto the floor of the small office and stepped inside after him. 

Jon’s stomach growled and he looked up at Michael in shock, his mouth hanging open. Before he could say anything, Michael was talking.

“This is a bad human.” It said simply. The man cowered away from Michael, scooting away and clutching his arm desperately. Just looking at him, Jon Knew that what Michael said was true. The man’s name was Richard Clay, and he murdered three women about a year ago in cold blood. 

And he was freshly traumatized by the Spiral.

Jon was dragging the man onto his feet and onto the spare chair before he even realized what he was doing. He put a fresh tape into the recorder and clicked it on, taking a seat opposite the sobbing man. 

“Statement of Richard Clay about his experiences with the entity known as Michael. Statement begins.”

By the time the man was done, he was pale as a sheet and shaking as the words were forced out of him. Apparently Michael had lured the man into its hallways with the promise of a new victim, where Michael had let him wander around for months. Michael had simply tracked down the worst person it had wandering its labyrinths and dragged him out to Jon.

Jon felt as though he’d just eaten a five course meal, and the intense, burning pain that had been tearing at his insides had been replaced by a curling feeling of content. He felt more awake and present than he had in weeks. He looked up at Michael, who looked as pleased as the cat that caught the canary.

Jon swallowed, finding that he had no difficulty, as his thirst had gone away alongside the other side effects. He felt… Well, frankly he felt wonderful.

He ignored the sobbing man (the rooms were soundproofed anyways) and relaxed, feeling the desire to curl up and enjoy himself for the first time in… Months? Years? 

Michael let out one of their typical echoing, stuttering laughs. Jon didn’t understand how he’d ever found the sound unnerving, because at the moment he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful. 

Richard, however, wailed at the sound, scratching at his ears as they began to bleed. A part of Jon wanted to comfort the man, possibly get him to a hospital, but a bigger part of him didn’t care that this awful, wicked man was suffering. 

“Go back through the door.” Jon said, not wanting to deal with him any longer. The man froze, before blankly nodding his head in agreement. He stepped through the door, into the infinite spiraling hallway, and Jon had the feeling that nobody living would find Richard Clay again for a long, long time.

After the door closed once again, Jon was left alone with Michael. 

“Do you feel better now?” Michael asked. Jon couldn’t deny how good he felt. He’d been hungry for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to be properly full. 

“Why do you care?” He asked softly, the normal aggression and annoyance that filled his voice was gone. He genuinely wanted to know. 

“I remember how hard it was for me at first. I was in so much pain for so long that I…” Michael looked down at its hands. They were still much too big and much too sharp, but Jon couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to hold one. Or maybe to run his hands through Michael’s long, soft looking hair.

He felt a surge of disgust with himself. He didn’t know whether it was because he was catching feelings for a monster or if it was because he was catching feelings for the first person to be nice to him since he’d woken up from his coma. He was greedy, he knew. He could barely keep a friend, much less a romantic partner. 

Jon shook away that particular train of thought. At that moment, he felt good. He’d be sick with himself later. 

“Thank you, Michael. For the record, you’re probably one of the least disgusting monsters I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Jon said. He winced at himself internally, since that sounded like an insult, but Michael’s wonderful overlapping laughter assured him that it had appreciated the compliment. 

It took its seat back on top of Jon’s desk and peered down at him thoughtfully. Jon looked back up at it with a fond smile. Maybe he didn’t need to be human to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my buddy reb who, without knowing anything about tma:  
> -convinced me to ship jon and michael  
> -convinced me to write a fanfiction about it  
> -convinced me to let her beta it


End file.
